


Wanre Niht

by GillO



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: F/M, Gen, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillO/pseuds/GillO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike hangs around a lot outside a house on Revello. One night there's a monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanre Niht

Com on wanre niht . scriðan sceadugenga.  
In the dark night a shadow-walker came gliding.

 

 

He liked to think of it as gliding through the night. Not “slinking”, and certainly not “slithering”. Creature of the night, yeah, but a bloke had his standards – he strode, he didn’t slither. Vampire here. Not some bloody snake. “Sliding” had a nice ring to it, but a sort of echo of pouffy skater boys, all hissing ice and clinging tights. Not his thing, thank you very much, however pretty his girl might look on her skates. OK, so not his girl yet, but she’d come round before too long, recognise he was what was best for her.

Glide or stride or whatever, he was outside her house before he’d arrived at the right vocabulary. He put the debate to one side and lit up a fag. Thank Gawd he still had the use of his lungs, even if he didn’t strictly need them. Best of all worlds, really - good, deep inhale, no cough, no chance of the Big C. And it pissed off certain of the Slayer’s kiddy friends too. Win all round.

He rested his back comfortably against the tree he’d started to think of as his own. Stars in the sky, a sliver of moon, a cool breeze, the chance she’d forget to draw the curtains before going to bed. Unlife wasn’t too bad. The street seemed pale in the half-light, with a glinting reflection from a window or so, one or two street lights still glowing faintly though it was past their bedtime..

A fox barked in the distance. Or possibly one of those weird New World beasts. Coyote or some such. Tasted foul, so he’d never had a lot of interest in tracking them down. Dru had liked them, toying with them as they snapped and growled, until she was bored and growled back, snapping their necks. Happy times, but that was like history now.

The noise came again. Louder and closer. Funny, that. Not so much an animal, come to think of it, more a beastie than a beast. He flattened himself against the bark and looked to each side, listening intently and flaring his nostrils to catch even a trace of scent. In the gloom at the end of the street, something moved. He shifted his weight, flexed his knees and jumped into the branches above his head. From there, he noted with interest, he was more or less on a level with a certain window. Worth remembering, that.

The screech of a terrified cat drew his attention back to the street. The moggy tore along the pavement, fur on end, caterwauling as it went. His hairs rose, just a little, and he gripped the rough bark a touch more firmly. Had to be a big bugger, could do that to the local cat.

Someone else had the same idea, it seemed. The window across from him opened, as if someone strong but cautious was interested. Nice. Blonde hair. Good. A slim leg, thigh revealed. Very nice. Shouldn’t ought to wear a skirt that short to climb out of a window in, mind. Could give a bloke ideas. He touched his tongue to his teeth, for a moment carried away by his imagination. The soft thump as she dropped to the ground recalled his attention.

Oh bugger. What to do now? Couldn’t exactly perch here and watch her being attacked without helping. Couldn’t live with himself if it went pear-shaped. But drop out of the tree now? He fondled his nose. He knew exactly how it would fare if he did that.

He sat tight.

She stood, alert in the gloom, arms crossed forbiddingly. The golden hair glinted and flicked as she peered up and down the street.

And then the thing was on her. Huge, pustular, razor teeth, horns, too many limbs, each tipped with claws. Nasty. Not so long ago he’d have enjoyed the smooth brutality of the thing as it shook the pet animal – a poodle, he thought – and tossed it in the air – maximum terror to make the meat juicy and the blood hot. 

The girl below him wouldn’t share those views, he knew. One glance of her set face and determined stance would be enough to tell him that even if he hadn’t known her. What to do? She would notice his intervention and he’d pay for it. But the bloody thing was enormous, twice her height. As he watched it dropped the furry rags from its mouth and started to pace toward her. There was a sinuous roll to its movement, though the long tail scraped the ground, creating a rumble as it swished from side to side. 

Spike leaned forward for a better look, just as Buffy reached for her nearest weapon. A garden rake? What had he told the silly bint about weapons? That thing had all it needed and some to spare, and the lumps on its spine glinted and oozed as the skin flowed together and the muscles coiled for a leap.

Bloody stupid. Had to be done, though. He hollered at the beast – distraction at least gave the girl a chance. Its head moved, but too, too slowly. Nothing for it. He shifted all his weight to his hands, gripped the branch and allowed himself to roll forward and down.

That, at least, was the theory. How was he to know the underside of the branch was slimy? His grip didn’t even hold long enough for him to complete the somersault. Instead, he belly-flopped, face down, wrong way round, arse to head, head on the beastie’s arse. Still, gave the bugger a surprise, didn’t it?

His face shifted and his fangs sank into the thing’s tailbone. Bloody hell but it stank. It was moving now, alright, trying to get its jaws at him – like some bleeding pup chasing its tail. He gripped tighter still as the thing began to rock and buck. When had he signed up for a sodding rodeo, anyway? His dug his heels as hard as he could into whatever they were touching. Neck? Spine? Didn’t bloody care.

At least the girl must have gone by now. The creature was roaring too loud for him to hear her dainty little footsteps, but he didn’t doubt that she would retreat into the house, leave one disgusting monster to fight it out with another. Then she could come out and sort out the survivor, battered and shattered as it would be, whichever of them it was.

The ruddy thing was rearing up now. He dug his hands deep into the muscles of its groin. Oh for nails like Dru used to have. Still, even bitten-down nails could thrust into the soft bits. He grabbed something lower, softer, and twisted.

Just as the roar turned to a yelp he heard the snap of something. Bugger, the bint was going for a two-in-one staking with her rake handle. Well, it’d been a good unlife. 

And then, miracle of miracles, the thing went limp. No sense of life in it at all – and believe me, he knew such stuff. Nope, it was dead. Slayer wizardry, no doubt. And time for Spike to face the music. His muscles started to scream as he released his hold and tumbled off the monster.

“Spike” She was tapping her foot. Her glorious hair not an inch out of place. The rake was embedded deep in the thing’s skull. Gardening tools good for any sort of cleanup, it seemed. “What in hell were you doing in that tree?”

“Out for a stroll, Slayer. Saw that thing, got out of its way. What’s your excuse – a bit of midnight gardening?”

“Heard it, saw it, slayed it. **_You were in a tree looking straight in my bedroom_**. Why?”

“Just passing. Bloke’s got a right to roam. Creature of the night here. Glad to help your little Keep Sunnydale Tidy effort. Gotta be going now, though.” With an attempt at insouciance despite his limp, he moved off into the night. 

Buffy shook her head, yawned and made a spot decision to leave clearup till daylight. There was a heap of cigarette ends under the tree, too, yet again. Strange, that. Shrugging, she turned and leapt for the return route.

Beyond the next street light, Spike watched the vision vanish back through the window. Just another jolly night in Sunnyhell. But he’d helped save her – sort of – and spoken to her. And he might feel bruised, but she hadn’t punched his nose.

He was ahead on points. Whistling, he limped away.

**Author's Note:**

> Com on wanre niht . scriðan sceadugenga. (In the dark night a shadow-walker came gliding.)
> 
> A quotation from _Beowulf_ in the original Anglo-Saxon.
> 
> This fic was a response to a challenge at SB_Fag_Ends community on Live Journal.


End file.
